Kinky Boots
by Mrs Dionysius O'Gall
Summary: Patrick Jane has a secret. A/N: Our favorite couple can't possibly be serious all the time. The possibilities are infinite for all those huge smiles post Season-6...
1. Cloaked

Patrick Jane had a secret. But the object of this secret, one Teresa Lisbon, was not aware of it yet.

* * *

It all started when they were on another undercover assignment, in the art world again, no less. Patrick and Teresa, or rather, "Payton" and "Tessa", their undercover identities, were riding "home" in a limousine following a spectacular gala in the Austin Art District. By all accounts, the operation was a success. They'd made the required contacts as directed by the Art Crimes Division, and their backup team made the initial arrests. Since there was a second event-a luncheon-the following day, they were to maintain their cover for an additional day.

Alcohol had flowed freely and "Payton" and "Tessa" spent the rest of the evening without inhibitions. In a gallery full of good food, copious alcohol, and none of the eyes of their FBI coworkers upon them, Patrick and Teresa felt free. The next day, the social blogs would also comment on the beautiful people, including that glamorous new couple from California. (God bless Wylie and the complete background cover he fabricated for them, Teresa thought as yet another camera flash blinded her.)

In fact, Agent Vega was quite impressed the next day when Gomez Hyatt, the celebrity gossip blogger, even included a blind item about a certain couple's "interlude" in the cloakroom.

Now they were alone, in a limousine, no longer "Payton" and "Tessa" to the outside world. Until this moment in the limousine, Patrick had thought that their steamy interlude in the cloakroom was the highlight of the night. The pink dress he'd bought her, no panties, no bra...who knew that the pink dress would not wrinkle when bunched up around her waist? But it was clear, as his hand rested on Teresa's knee, and he listened to her slightly tipsy declarations of just what she was going to do to him once they got back to their undercover home, that what happened in the cloakroom was small potatoes compared to Teresa's promises of high class "artistic" action.

Just thinking of the cloakroom caused Patrick's body to react.

At one point in the evening, after the business of crime was taken care of, Teresa had taken a little longer coming back from the ladies' room, so Patrick, naturally concerned-they were still undercover, after all-had gone to the foyer to look for her. Giggling, she emerged from the ladies' room, teetering and tottering on her high heels. With a grin born of sheer happiness on his face, Patrick steadied her, keeping her from stumbling. And as always, he appreciatively scanned her from head to toe.

She was perfection, even if slightly inebriated. In fact, he enjoyed seeing her like this: silly, sexy and carefree. She rarely got a chance to be that way-and had only succumbed to the alcohol he'd plied her with because she was unarmed for this assignment (they'd gone through a metal detector at this event.) How could he have such longing for her body-he'd been more than celibate for so long-when he'd just made love to her that morning?

If truth be told, his favorite part of this woman was the space between her ears, but he often vacillated between being a breast or leg man when around her. Oh hell, he was Team "Everything Lisbon" all the way, all the time.

After steadying her, as he helped her back to the salon where the event was being held, they passed the coat-check.

It was unattended.

Eyes met, and Teresa's smile widened, and before they knew it, he was pressed against the far wall of the cloakroom, out of sight of passersby. Somehow, her dress was up around her waist, bunched in his hands, and he was unzipped and buried all the way inside her.

They were both laughing uncontrollably, as Teresa jumped up to wrap her legs around him. Loving a woman in law enforcement, with its physical strength requirements, was proving to be an unforeseen advantage. And Patrick had no problem at all with Teresa being the aggressor. This evening, no foreplay was required; the entire evening had served that purpose. An intelligent, beautiful, sexy, enticing woman. An intelligent, beautiful, sexy, enticing man. With eyes only for the other. Available only to the other. Just being together at this stage in their relationship was foreplay. But the undercover nature of the evening? Icing on the cake.

It was over just like that-quick, exhilarating, illicit and joyful.

Now they were alone again, in the privacy of the limousine. Her pink-hued dress had once more made its way up over her knees. His hand moved up and down her closest leg. Over the smoothness of her knee, and down the front of her leg. Then back up again, up up up over the rounded terrain of her knee to the softer flesh on her thigh. A gentle squeeze on yielding flesh, on thighs that could be at once soft and yet strong as steel. Then upward.

Slap!

She playfully swatted his hand. "Not in the limo, too close to the house," she explained.

Instead, he trailed his hand back down her leg, transfixed by her legs and feet. It was then that he knew he'd have to ask her. It was then that he knew that he'd have to tell her his little secret. About what he really liked.

But first, he'd take her "home". Take her to bed. And let her follow up on her promise of "artistic" sex in the huge California king bed in their undercover residence.

* * *

He did not tell her that night. Not because he chickened out, not because he didn't want to, but because, when Teresa said she was going to get "artistic", well, she treated him to a night that most men would write to Penthouse about. A night that required sleeping in the next day.

That morning, before "Payton" and "Tessa" left to conclude the undercover assignment, he wondered how they'd even be able to walk out of the house unassisted.

But having moved from the back recesses of his mind to the forefront, his secret nagged at Patrick. How would she take it? Would she do it? She certainly seemed adventurous.

Maybe he shouldn't ask her. Things were so good between them and even better in the bedroom and the various other places where Lisbon allowed him to have sex. The living room and kitchen of her home. Against an FBI conference room door, after hours, Jane having ascertained that there were no surveillance cameras. In the Airstream, of course. And best of all, outside behind the Airstream on a soft pile of blankets, looking up at the stars, unable to decide which stars shone brightest: her eyes as she made love to him, or the stars above.

Hell, what was the worst that could happen? She'd laugh him out of bed? Surely, something as benign as what he had in mind wouldn't gross her out.

And if she said 'no', well, he'd live with it. But if she said 'yes', he'd be beyond thrilled.

It was not as if he was asking if he could wear women's clothing, or do something kinky (though Lord knew what Teresa would describe with that adjective...) No, he'd simply be asking her to wear...the boots.

For Patrick Jane was a boot fetishist.

But duty called, and "Payton" and "Tessa" went on with the work of the day.


	2. Discovered

So, Patrick Jane was a boot fetishist, but now was not the time to act on this. His Teresa, or rather "Tessa", was in the process of making an arrest. He looked down at her foot, sensibly clad, planted on the perp.

Patrick jolted back to reality. It was true, however. Patrick loved the sight of a woman in boots. His favorite? Short little black high-heeled boots. His fantasy: a woman in boots, and well, nothing else. Nothing else at all. Patrick loved it when Teresa slowly crossed her legs after being seated. In general, he loved the way that a woman's legs looked in high-heeled boots.

Patrick felt safe with Teresa. And he remembered her in the gallery cloakroom. And up against the door of the FBI conference room. And late at night behind the Airstream. Maybe now it was time to see how willing Teresa was going to be...

* * *

"Patrick?"

Teresa sounded confused, even a tad concerned.

Teresa had gone to the Airstream after debriefing with Abbott, because she had a slight headache, and it was parked at work. She told him not to worry; by the time he got there, she'd be all over the headache.

Patrick entered his vehicular residence, and noticed that the shades were drawn. Made sense, if her head ached. He also saw that she was kneeling next to the bed.

Oh oh.

"Teresa? Are you OK?"  
Patrick knew that her eyes would be scanning the room for him in the dimness. His eyes had already adjusted, and he saw that she was still in the pale blue blouse and dark suit from earlier.

"Patrick?" she asked again, louder and more fearful.

Oh oh. She had pulled a long box out from the under-bed storage area.

"C'mere," he growled, hoping to distract her.

"Patrick, what's this?"

He smiled at her, hoping to come across as nonchalant, normal, matter-of-fact. But by the way she was looking at him, his smile might as well have been feral, he thought. He moved closer to her, and as he did, he could feel the uncertainty radiating off her body.

"Uh, what's what?"

"These. Boots."

"Umm..."

"Fancy boots! What the...?" she suddenly questioned, holding up the especially beautiful, especially spiky pair.

Inexplicably, Patrick felt proud of himself. He'd researched those boots quite carefully.

"Patrick..." The uncertainty had returned to her voice.

For her part, Teresa was perplexed as she handled the...merchandise...in front of her. She turned boot over boot over in her hands, and as she examined each exquisite item, she mulled her discovery over in her mind. This discovery was unexpected. Was he buying her presents and stashing them, waiting for the proper time to gift her?

She turned, to find him standing next to her.

For all the world, he looked like a man caught cheating. Yet at the same time, his relief was plain to see.

"Patrick?"

"C'mere," he growled again, motioning with his chin and, sitting down on the bed, patting the space beside him.

Teresa reached her hand up and he assisted her into a standing position. She took her place next to him.

Patrick took a deep breath. "Lisbon, this is so hard."

Teresa thought she would begin to hyperventilate. "Are you OK? Is there someone else?"

"What are you talking about, Teresa? Are you crazy? I would never cheat on you," he reassured her.

"But... these boots..."

Patrick patted Teresa's hand. His thoughts were all over the place. He had to tell her. But how?

"I..."

"Oh Jane. I've ruined things. Ruined your surprise. I'm such an idiot. I..."

"Teresa. It's not that. It's...it's just that I like...I like boots."

"You like me wearing boots?" Ok, she got it, but then added, remorsefully, "But now I've ruined your surprise."

The look on Teresa's face was so heartrendingly that of a woman in love, that Patrick began to reconsider telling her about the boots. No one had ever looked at him that way in, well, Teresa knew how long. Maybe she'd just put them on and he'd never have to tell her, and then he'd just give her the boots as a gift, except...he'd have to explain why he wanted to keep them in the Airstream.

Near the bed.

Time to take the plunge.

"I like boots."

"You like boots." She parroted his statement, not as a question, but delivered it in the same flat, even tone he'd used.

"No. Teresa, I really like boots." Patrick tried to put a little more emotion into his statement. "Really..." he gulped, "like them."

After a beat, he added, "On women. I mean, on...on...you..."

He could actually see the pieces fall into place in her beautiful mind.

Click. Click. Click. The pieces fell into place.

"You like boots...like...like...during..."

"Yes."

That admission had a different effect than he'd expected.

Teresa Lisbon burst out laughing. Patrick watched in misery as her body shook, her hand slapped her knee, and a pink flush slowly rose across her throat, up her neck, then across her cheeks.

"Oh my..." She continued laughing, then suddenly stopped, seeing the expression on his face, her eyes fixing on his.

"Alrighty then," she said, attempting normalcy after she'd calmed down, "I'm going bed."

That was it?

"Still have a headache," she shrugged, apologetically. "The drinking last night...That's why I was down there..." She indicated the floor. "Dropped my Tylenol."

Oh. OK.

"Here, let me help you." Patrick got up, and brought back another Tylenol for her.

As Patrick approached her, Teresa arose as well, and he allowed her to pass him, her lithe body brushing against his. Patrick, for a second, allowed himself to contemplate the sound of a sharp stiletto heel clicking on the hardwood floor in their future home, then quickly focused on Teresa.

"Here." He handed her the pain reliever.

* * *

They settled into bed; both at first tried reading, then gave up. Teresa looked up at him and said, "I'm sorry I laughed."

And then she began to giggle.

"No really, I am. So...boots...?"

"I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. You feeling better?" Patrick indicated her head.

"Oh yeah. Tylenol, works for me every time."

"Uh...did I upset you?"

Patrick waited for her answer.

"Seriously? No. Just surprised. This is a side of you I never knew...I mean... How long?"

"Huh?"

"How long have you had this...attraction?"

"Not long..."

"Liar."

Patrick nodded his head. "A long time."

"God, Grace would have a field day with this!"

Patrick looked mortified, and Teresa quickly jumped in. "Oh no, I'd never tell her, but you just know she'd be looking up the whole psychology of it on the web..."

Teresa stopped when she noticed the stricken look on his face.

"Not that there's anything wrong with..." she deadpanned. Teresa turned to him. "Seriously, Hon. What do I do? Wear these?"

Patrick still looked uncomfortable.

"Seriously, Jane. I love boots. I love you. Me. You. Boots?"

Patrick still looked uncomfortable.

"So, do I just wear them?" she asked.

"Yeah," Patrick admitted.

"And what else do I wear?" she asked.

Silence from Patrick, but he was rewarded with a quirked eyebrow and smirk from Teresa.

Patrick had never made love to a woman just wearing boots before. And in his fantasies, well, Teresa was just wearing them. He hadn't thought of the getting there...

"Not now," he mumbled. "Doesn't feel right."


	3. Anticipation

Teresa and Patrick's lives progressed as usual over the next weeks. Every morning, they awoke, most of the time together in either Patrick or Teresa's bed. Most days, for two independent persons, they found it quite easy to commingle their time. Their conversation continued with ease, sparkling and stimulating, and they'd perfected a routine of sorts. And there was never a night where they didn't happily tumble into bed: life together was just that good.

And the boots? For one thing, they were not an option at Teresa's. Furthermore, as was often the case with important issues between the couple, once Patrick's secret was out in the open, it was not spoken of again. But the boots remained at the forefront of Teresa's mind. She sensed potential. She sensed an opportunity for a little bit of fun, to be augmented by a whole bunch of pleasure.

So Teresa began to carefully bide her time, waiting for the perfect moment. That moment when Patrick lowered his guard, when the chance for victory for her and the boots would be at its peak. Then, and only then, would Teresa strike. It was difficult for her, though. Those perfect specimens of leather artisanship reposing under Patrick's bed haunted her. She liked predictability-but how could she not have known this about him? Sometimes, she imagined him slipping them over her feet, hugging her ankles, uplifting her calf muscles just so. Her breath rushed out of her lungs in a proto-orgasmic audible gasp, the thought of the buttery leather leaving her face soft and her eyes gazing dreamily across the room.

Forget the memory of his vest against her breasts. Forget the memory of his stubble tickling her body. Anticipation-of both leather and sex-was now her aphrodisiac.

Teresa was not the only person dreaming about those boots. Patrick was also carefully biding his time. At first, he strategized as to how to get Teresa to spend more nights in the Airstream. He even contemplated buying a second set of the boots to leave at her house. But Patrick also was a man, and not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and the prospect of sex with his woman was not something he was about to postpone just because they were at her place. So he too was waiting: waiting until Teresa's guard was lowered, when his chance to see her in those boots could be realized.

Waiting was not difficult for Patrick. A man who had pined for over a dozen years could wait a few more nights for his leather moment. Yet, the thought of those boots under his bed haunted Patrick. He longed to slip them over her slim yet strong feet, gently pulling the zipper closed. He exhaled harshly as he thought of how he would then run his hands over the outside of the boots, and then coax Teresa out of her clothing. When he felt especially self-masochistic, he imagined her then walking the length of the Airstream, her calf muscles uplifted and defined just so, the staccato of the heels, the way she would invariably look both shy and incredibly sexy at the same time. And then Patrick imagined how his hands would capture her wrists, as he would lead her to bed. Once there, while still holding her wrists, he would pin them above her head as he made his move, the other hand resting on one delightful leather boot.

* * *

"Need you in Conference Room B, Jane!" Abbott barked, breaking Patrick's reverie as he watched Teresa gulp down yet another cup of coffee.

"What's going on in there?" Lisbon asked Cho when Jane didn t come back for a while.

Cho made a cryptic remark about Attention Deficit Disorder.

It was then that Teresa sensed that her opportunity had come. She and Patrick had plans to see a movie that evening, and the boots would go perfectly with her new jeans. Teresa sighed as she thought about how Patrick would lean over, and whisper his love of her derriere in jeans into her ear, his breath dancing across one of her most sensitive erogenous zones: her ear lobe.

Before she knew it, she'd quietly left the building, and found herself at the door to the Airstream. Pushing the door open, she realized she had no place to hide the booty she was about to score. She quickly made her way to the bed. Dropping to her knees, she exhaled in relief when she found that the box was still under Patrick's bed. Quickly pulling it out, she opened it and was greeted by a waft of leathery essence.

Breathing deeply, the scent transported Teresa to places well to any number of Texan emporia. But she could not allow herself to become distracted, and so she quickly stuffed the boots into a plastic trash bag. She figured she'd drape her jacket over it when they left for her place.

* * *

The rest of the afternoon passed in an excruciatingly slow daze for Teresa. She found it difficult to wholly concentrate on the paperwork wrapping up the undercover art case. She grabbed some extra work to take home, which succeeded in diverting Jane's attention when he dropped her off at her house.

Later that evening, Patrick showed up with his overnight items, ready for their movie date. Walking to the car, her sway and posture bolstered her self-confidence. Would Patrick notice? Patrick was on her like a June bug on a windshield on a humid May evening. "How do you do it, Teresa?" he whispered, "Look so sexy?" Almost leaning against her, he brought enough of himself into contact with her that she had no doubt that the jeans and the boots were working for him.

And then he took a step backward, and another step backward and she realized that he'd seen them. She could sense Patrick looking at her feet; sense his eyes moving up her legs, to her ass, and then back down again. For a moment, she swayed, imagining his hands following that same path.

"See something you like?" she purred, then whispered in his ear, "Tonight. Boots on the ground."

Her whispered promise caused any thought Patrick had of chastising her for taking the boots from the Airstream to flee his brain, as her warm breath made him shiver. The excitement began to flow, from her breath to his ear, into his veins, down to his groin.

"Let's go," she cajoled, as she tossed him the car keys.


	4. Man, Woman, Boots

Much later, they were back in Teresa's house. It had been a special torture for Patrick to spend time watching the movie while Teresa sat there wearing...his boots. And then to drive back with her, and watch her in front of him...to see the teasing spark in her eyes...

Patrick decided to let Teresa take the lead. He'd taken a huge risk by confiding in her in the first place, and did not want to scare her away. He wasn't at all surprised that she was her normal self as they ended their evening. Patrick was seated on the couch, enjoying his tea as Teresa sat on his lap and teased him. It was a special little ritual that he enjoyed.

"Every day," she went on, "I wake up with you, talk to you, eat lunch with you, drink coffee while you have your tea. I can't even imagine being in a situation where you had to be gone from me again. Undercover assignments without you? Not happening again." She reached down and removed the teacup from his hand. "I don't know how I can ever be without you." She placed a kiss on his lips, which soon deepened. "I love everything about you. The way you look, the way you smell..." She giggled as she buried her nose into his neck. The stubble tickle-scratched her and she could not resist flicking her tongue out to taste him.

Patrick was more than happy to respond, wrapping both arms around her. The movie and the anticipatory tenseness about the boots had left him emotionally spent. But being around Teresa when she was this spontaneous, not burdened by the often gruesome and difficult work she did, that was his intoxication, the sun that provided the heat to his days and nights. It had taken a long time for her to be able to express herself so freely, and his gratitude and love knew no bounds. He could not repress the faint shiver that rippled through him as her tongue flicked against his skin.

"Mmm..." she murmured, "You taste...so good..."

Patrick relaxed into her, silently willing her to continue talking. This sensual side of Teresa was one he treasured as much as her logical, kickass, take-charge side.

"Keep talkin'," he insisted.

"Oh yeah? You sure you don't want to...shut me up?" she teased as she kissed him.

Breaking for air, Patrick told her, "Your voice. So sexy." Kiss. "You. So sexy. You drove me crazy with those boots tonight..." he added, his voice low, smooth, and husky. "So...so beautiful." Kiss. He ran his hand up and down her thigh. "Lose the jeans," he requested.

Teresa whimpered ever so slightly at his request, the sound muffled within his own mouth.

But she didn't move.

"Lose the jeans," he said with more authority, even as he shivered again in anticipation.

"I've got a better idea," Teresa murmured, giving him one last kiss, then rising, holding onto his hand as long and as lingeringly as she could. "Bed." She motioned her head towards the bedroom, as she slowly disappeared into the bathroom.

* * *

In her robe, Teresa emerged from the bathroom to discover that Patrick had dimmed the lights and was sitting at the edge of the bed. His eyes lighted with a mixture of relief and delight when he noticed that she still had the boots on. He stood, awaiting her arrival next to him, and Teresa reached both hands out to him.

Holding each hand in his, Patrick placed a soft kiss in each palm, before bringing her hands close together, clasping both wrists now with one hand. He pulled those hands to his chest, placing them close to his heart. His free hand dropped to settle at her hip, pulling her infinitesimally closer, before slowly moving upward, tracing the gentle dip where hip merged into waist. Frustrated by the terry bulk of her robe, he pulled open its tie at the waist, and slipped his hand inside, continuing his journey upward to her breast.

Now it was her turn to shiver.

"Cold?" he murmured, pulling her even closer so his mouth settled by her ear.

"Hot!" she insisted, but with another shiver.

Patrick's tongue flicked towards her ear, tracing the lobe and intensifying her shiver. He could feel her breath.

"Want you..." they both exhaled at the same time, and then Teresa slipped her wrists from his grasp.

She reached up to cup his face, and pulling it down, latched her mouth onto his, her tongue seeking entrance. Even as she intensified the kiss, she shrugged the robe off her shoulders, and Patrick vaguely realized that not only was his fantasy in his arms, she was dressed as he had ultimately fantasized. In the boots. And nothing else.

With ultimate willpower, he slightly pushed her away, and was thrilled to see that she was actually blushing as his eyes roved up and down her body, blatantly telegraphing his intentions.

And yet, she was the same Teresa he knew. "See something you like?" she purred.

Patrick did not answer. His eyes could not stop roving, up to her face, to the desire in her eyes, then down down down over every aspect of her body, finally stopping at the boots. The contrast of dark leather against her pale skin caused the blood to rush to Patrick's head, pounding crushing waves between his ears.

"Lose the clothes, Patrick," he dimly heard her request.

Her wish was his reason for being at that moment, and he quickly undressed while it was her turn to watch him. And she giggled as he finally stood there wearing only the special socks, and gave him a quick push onto the bed. She knelt in front of him and pulled his socks off.

"Walk for me," he requested.

Proudly, with not a hint of embarrassment, she walked alongside the bed.

"My god..." Patrick exhaled, in disbelief, still trying hard to fathom that he'd actually found this beautiful woman and that she was willing to meet him more than halfway.

His hand reached out to stop her, and caressed her leg above the boots.

And then she surprised him. Before he could react, her head dipped, and her mouth surrounded him, engulfed him, her lips and tongue and teeth sliding over him.

He groaned, the sound incomprehensible. All he was aware of were the boots, her mouth, the boots, Lisbon, Teresa.

* * *

It was the middle of the night. Somehow, the boots had been removed. One of his hands was entangled in her hair. As Patrick drifted in and out of sleep, the words hot, wet and boot flitted in and out of his mind. He wove his fingers through her hair, dimly remembering how she had pressed gentle kisses against his chest, neck, and face, and then vividly remembering how with one firm push, he'd been inside her, one boot-clad foot caressing his face.

She'd worn the boots. She'd worn the boots.


	5. Hill Country Interlude

Once the ice was broken, so to speak, the boots became less of a presence in their lives. Teresa considered the boots to be a delightful little secret she and Patrick shared, and was savvy enough in matters of both ego and the heart to not tease him about them too often. So, for the first few weeks after the boots were broken in, there had been little activity in that department.

She actually found Patrick's boot fetish to be quite advantageous. Not only did she now have a source of footwear conveniently reposing underneath Patrick's bed, she had a surefire way of stoking Patrick's fire should it ever need...stoking.

She and Patrick were finally taking the Airstream up for a weekend in the Texas Hill Country, and in spite of the Airstream, Teresa was beside herself with excitement. A lakeside weekend with Patrick, all alone, was just what they both needed.

* * *

As they approached the campsite area, a downpour was baptizing the Airstream. They were silent as Patrick slowly maneuvered through the thunderstorm; he could barely see the unpaved road through the sheets of rain pouring from the sky. But once they were settled and had eaten, they snuggled under a blanket, listening to the rain pound on the Airstream.

"Stop thinking...Shh..." Patrick advised, as he stroked her body underneath the blanket. "Slow down. Relax. It's just us, no clocks, nothing to do..."

In return, Teresa shifted her weight, reached under the blanket as well, and ran her fingertips gently down his length, then left him feeling bereft as she moved to his thigh.

"Don't stop," he requested.

Teresa smiled, her fingers returning to stroke him. He sprang to life under her hand, as the rain pounded even harder onto the Airstream's roof.

"You know," he murmured, "out here, no one can hear...a thing...and with the rain..."

He moved down between her legs and, before she knew it, she proved him right.

"Teresa," he whispered after her heart had slowed to a more normal rate, "You are the most beautiful woman I've ever known."

She reached up and brushed her fingers through his hair, before wickedly saying, "And you'd better remember that forever."

The rain continued coming down.

He settled his body over hers, and she reached out to guide him to her, as he gently slid inside her. The rain softened to a pitter-patter, and as they made love, all she could hear was the rain, and Patrick occasionally exhaling her name in rhythm with the rain.

* * *

Afterward, they lay together, wrapped in the blanket; Patrick's breathing finally slowing while she stroked his hair. The rain had stopped.

"You're beautiful, and so good," he whispered. Patrick took her hand and kissed her fingertips, one by one, punctuating each kiss with a syllable. "I am so lucky."

"Oh, I don't know, I think we both are." Teresa trembled as he took her other hand, and slowly kissed each fingertip.

The next morning was bright and sunny, and Patrick woke to actually find that Teresa was already up and out of bed. Opening the door, he saw her standing under the awning.

Teresa turned to grin at him. "'Morning," she smirked, as she watched his eyes move up and down her body, from the skimpy sky-blue bikini to the boots.

It was going to be a great day to be Patrick Jane.

* * *

Epilogue, A Few Months Later

"Thank you, Agent Fisher. We were following up on the Art Crimes cases. This is a big help-it appears to be a nationwide ring." He poked his head out into the bullpen. "Jane? Lisbon? My office."

Jane and Lisbon took their place in Abbott's office. The official surroundings, symbolic of the hold the FBI had over him, and the presence of Agent Fisher and Abbott's superiors made Jane nervous.

"Look, Abbott, we're having a busy morning..." Jane tried to stall.

Lisbon whispered, "Nice try." Then: "Let's sit," she recommended, and guided Jane to the seat they seemed to often share.

"We're sure this case is closed?" Abbott continued.

"Sir, we don't expect to find any more...situations...that will require us to go undercover in the gallery district...for now," Lisbon reported.

"Jane, do you agree?" Fisher asked.

"Yes. I trust Agent Lisbon's instincts here. Definitely. We don't feel Austin will be a problem."

Kim Fisher passed in front of them, and gave the agent and her consultant a long stare before giving in with a sigh. "Alright. But mark my words, if they resurface either her or in Dallas, we'll..."

Lisbon looked over at Jane. He had suddenly turned pale and stiffened, his hands on his knees.

The look Lisbon gave him screamed: "Are you OK?"

Jane continued staring ahead.

Lisbon was worried. Jane was acting like...well, like not Jane.

"Here, let me leave the file with you..." Fisher advised.

Jane now had moved one hand to Lisbon's knee, gripping onto it for dear life, not caring about who saw the gesture.

Lisbon looked over at Fisher, and then blanched, even as Jane's grip tightened even more.

Agent Kim Fischer was wearing spike-heeled black leather boots.


End file.
